MYRKFLJÓÐ UNDIR FJALLRÓTUM (Dark Currents Below) | Female & Male Old Norse Vocals

Описание: Dark Nordic Folk | Nordic Ritual Ambient | Voices of Midgard

Original Lyrics

Við rótum fjallsins hrærast þungt myrkr,
ok vindr blæs eins og sofinn ulfr.
Þokan skríðr í löngum draumlíkum slæðum,
ok moldin sjálf hvíslar ór daufum djúpum.

Þú gengr einr á mjóum næturstíg,
þar sem engi fugl né dýr hefir talað.
Steinar blika sem votir augu drauga,
ok rúnir brenna mjótt í hrímkaldri jörð.
Hvert skref fellr sem sárt orð í tignarlaust loft,
ok allt virðist bíða þess er þú munt heyra.

Vindrinn tekr að syngja sem glatað barn,
ok tónn hans ber nafn sem þú þekkir eigi.
Skuggakvikr sveigr kringum kné þitt,
sem vildu mæla með þér um dauða ok líf.
Hugr þinn rekr sig sem logi í stormi,
ok þú finn at allt er daufara enn áður.

Við vatnsdjúp svartan dal finn þú þig,
ok himinninn speglast sem brotinn steinn.
Þar vakir draumr sem engi hefir sungit,
ok rís sem kulbúinn andi ór myrkrinu.
Hann hrærir móðu í mjóum hringum,
ok talar með djúpum draumrótarrómi.

„Gakk eigi nær,“ hvíslar vatnið sjálft,
„því allt sem fellr inn kemr aldregi út.“
En þú stendr sem fest í milli heima,
ok hjarta þitt býr við bæði ljós ok skugga.
Fjallið yfir þér andvarpar sem elliligr jǫtunn,
ok moldin þrútnar við þína þögn.

Þú leggst hönd á hrímgróinn stein,
ok hitinn hvarf ór fingrum þínum sem minning.
Raddir vakna niður í kjarna fjalls,
og bera með sér söng lostinna ára.
Djúpar rúnir slá takt við hjartað,
ok þú finn þik hrynja inn í fornan hrynjanda.
Það er engi draumsýn —
það er jǫrðin sjálf, sofandi, hrærandi, lifandi.

Þú gengr frá vatni, en vatnið fylgir,
í hljóðum, í anda, í mjúkum skugga.
Á bak við þér brýtr ljóslaust glampi,
eins og augnablik sem vildi lifa.
Hrímdögg festist á höndum þínum,
ok kuldi rennr upp í sálina sem blóðlaus straumr.

En þó lyftir þú höfði,
ok fjarlæg ljós brenna sem sorgarlokur heimsins.
Þau kalla eigi, þau biðja eigi —
þau vaka, ok þú svarar með þögninni.
Landið tekr þik upp eins og týndan syni,
ok leiðir þik inn í gljúfra dimmra nættr.

Vindr deyr út við rót fjallsins,
ok spor þín hvarfa sem óskrifaðar rúnir.
Skuggar syngja mjótt í síðustu bylgju,
ok þú hverf inn í myrkfljóð heimsins.
Einnr, en samt bundinn við allt sem andar,
gengr þú enn — óséðr, ónefndr, ok lifandi.

_________

Poetical Translation

At the mountain’s roots a heavy shadow stirs,
and the wind blows like a sleeping wolf.
The mist crawls in long, dream-woven veils,
and the earth itself whispers from muffled depths.

You walk alone along a narrow night-path,
where neither bird nor beast has spoken.
Stones gleam like the wet eyes of ghosts,
and runes smoulder faintly in the frost-cold soil.
Each step falls like a wounded word in empty air,
and everything seems to wait for what you will hear.

The wind begins to sing like a lost child,
and its tone carries a name you do not know.
Flickering shapes coil around your knees,
as if to counsel you on life and death.
Your mind wavers like a flame in a storm,
and you feel the world grow dimmer than before.

By the dark lake in the valley’s hollow you come,
and the sky reflects like a shattered stone.
There wakes a dream no tongue has sung,
rising like a frost-clad spirit out of the dark.
It stirs the haze in slender circles,
and speaks with the deep voice of dream-roots.

“Come no closer,” whispers the water itself,
“for all who fall within shall never return.”
Yet you stand as one caught between worlds,
and your heart holds both shadow and pale light.
The mountain above you sighs like an ancient giant,
and the earth swells beneath the burden of your silence.

You set your hand upon a frost-grown stone,
and warmth fades from your fingers like memory.
Voices awaken deep within the mountain’s core,
carrying with them the song of long-lost years.
Heavy runes strike a rhythm with your heart,
and you feel yourself sink into an older pulse.
This is no vision —
it is the earth itself, sleeping, stirring, alive.

You walk from the water, yet the water follows,
in sound, in breath, in soft-woven shadow.
Behind you breaks a dim, wordless glimmer,
like a moment that longed to keep living.
Frost-dew clings to your hands,
and a coldness climbs your soul like a bloodless tide.

Yet still you raise your head,
and distant lights burn like the mourning lamps of the world.
They do not call, they do not plead —
they watch, and you answer them with silence.
The land lifts you like a child returned,
and guides you into clefts of deeper night.

The wind dies out at the mountain’s root,
and your footprints vanish like unwritten runes.
Shadows sing faintly in the last trembling wave,
and you fade into the dark-flowing currents of the world.
Alone, yet bound to all that breathes,
you walk on — unseen, unnamed, alive.

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All characters and scenes in this video are fully fictional and AI-generated. No real persons are depicted.